Sick Day
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: Holmes comes to fetch his Boswell away on a case, only to discover that there are certain complications.


There was a knock at the door, loud and impatient, as though the individual behind it did not see why there should be a door in his way at all.

I sighed, it could be only one of two things, a patient or Sherlock Holmes, and knowing how fate turned it was most likely the former, in either case I would have to send them away.

The knock sounded again and I quickly rose to my feet set down the book that I had been reading.

Crossing to the door I pulled it open and much to my surprise I found that it was not a late night patient seeking my husband's help, but rather the very man that I had not been expecting and had not seen for several months.

He stood, his hat in his hand, wearing his thick, black overcoat against the late evening chill, his sharp grey eyes fixed upon me as he fiddled nervously with the brim of his hat.

"Ah, Mrs. Watson."

"Mr. Holmes,"

"Is Watson…"

"I am sorry Mr. Holmes…he cannot come with you."

My husband's friend shifted, his black brows lowering in consternation and perhaps some displeasure for he was not used to being halted by women.

"Whyever not" he demanded with this slight scowl."…where is he?"

"He is in bed."

His brows furrowed further and he looked past me into the house with almost uncharacteristic concern.

"What's happened?"

"its' nothing serious." I hastened to reassure him, for from the lifestyle he led he no doubt had reason to expect that something dangerous had occurred. "He was out late last night and caught the flu that he has been spending the last while treating. But he does need to rest."

"Oh."

He relaxed visibly in relief though there was also a touch of disappointment in his voice, and no wonder, for I knew from the moment that I had first entered Baker Street and seen the two of them lounging about in front of their fire, and in the way they watched after each other all through the dreadful case concerning my father that they were the truest of friends.

And my coming had done a great deal to distance that bond between the two of them, so much so that I almost wished I had refused John's offer…I never could have…but it was a sad thing to see the separation between two such close companions.

"I shall tell him that you came by." I said, knowing as I said it that my words were woefully inadequate.

The detective nodded awkwardly and replaced his hat, then abruptly turned his back and marched back down the stairs, disappearing with almost ghostlike swiftness into the fog.

I closed the door behind him, sighing in regret and going back to my book. I would simply have to make certain that John called on him when he was well again.

As it turned out I did not have the chance, for no more than a few hours had passed before the knock at the door was repeated and with such energy that I was able to hear it even up in our room.

John jerked out of his doze upon the bed, looking rather more rested than he had this morning, his hair ruffled and the sheets rumpled about him, his hazel eyes fixing blearily on the direction of the door.

"Bary," he said, his nose thoroughly clogged. "Theres sobone at…"

"I heard it John, go back to sleep dear and I shall answer it."

He slumped backwards with a sigh, allowing me to pull my hand from his.

I hurried down the steps and answered the door more carefully then before for it was growing dark.

We rarely got visit's from Sherlock Holmes…so can probably imagine the incredulity that set upon me at seeing him standing there for the second time in the same day, looking and behaving as awkwardly formal as he had before upon seeing me.

He did not wait upon ceremony (it seemed he never did) but spoke as though we had never ceased our brief exchange from earlier.

"How is he?"

I smiled for he was peering over my shoulder again at the steps that led up to the bedroom where John lay.

"He is doing better…it is mild as we hoped it would be…he has not even needed the services of another Doctor."

"Good, good." the detective nodded and did not say anymore, lingering on the step.

He was holding his hands behind his back, and I felt a sudden wave of amusement and joy as I took in how he took care to conceal it, and how he was schooling his face to be totally emotionless.

"Would you like to see him?" I asked, and was gratified and pleased to see a brief flash of relief come across his face, I had guessed his purpose correctly then.

"Yes I suppose I could." Holmes said with apparent nonchalance, then completely destroying the façade with his second, eagerly spoken comment.

"Is he awake?"

"He is. Its just at the top and to the left…you are welcome too…" But he was already up the stairs and I quickly followed pausing just outside the door smiling to myself as the cold, enigmatic voice of the detective…and the voice I loved most in the world both lit with a spark that was absent outside of each other's presence.

"Holmbes!"

"Watson my dear fellow, you are ill." The detective said, his voice mixed with concern and obvious delight as seeing his friend again.

"Nod the bost stunning deducshun you'be eber had Holmbes." this was followed by a sneeze and a slight groan.

"How…how are you feeling?"

"Bedder actually. Do sid down."

There was a slight scraping as a chair was dragged closer to the bedside.

"Whadever are you doing here Holmbes? How did you…"

I could practically hear the smile in the detective's voice as he next spoke.

"I had a case…one that would have been a great deal more enjoyable with my good friend and colleague."

A slight groan, one of disappointment as well as discomfort. "I'b Sorry Holmbes…"

A snort. "Nonsense old fellow…and it came out alright…"

"Whad habbened?"

"I'll tell you…but um…but first I have brought you something Watson."

There was a slight rustling and then a clogged laugh of surprise and delight from John.

"Holmbes…a box of…old mban, I ab delighded bud I ab afraid I shall nod be able to smboke theb in by condishun."

"Ah."

The detective's voice fell in some disappointment and perhaps some embarrassment as he realized that he had not entirely thought his gift through.

I could picture the smile on my husband's face even though I could not see it…kindly and deeply touched.

"Neber mbind, I shall sabe themb for when I can smbell again…now, aboud the case."

I turned and tiptoed back down the stairs to finish my book, as the voice of Sherlock Holmes rose in an excited description of his latest escapade.

I dearly hoped that another such adventure would crop up soon, when John was feeling a bit better.


End file.
